


lost in balms

by weefaol



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Deleted Scene, Dirty Thoughts, Flirting, Guilty Dean, M/M, Massage, Pining, Pre-Slash, Snowed In, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weefaol/pseuds/weefaol
Summary: Fourteen is a dangerous age to be stuck inside snowy cabins with beautiful things.Sam gets more than he bargained for when he gives Dean an innocent massage.





	lost in balms

**Author's Note:**

> deleted scene from [howls in my bones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664347).
> 
> title from emily dickinson's _come slowly, eden_.

“Motherfuckin’ cold in there…”

Dean emerged from the drafty old bathroom in the even draftier old cabin with his arms crossed over his chest, shrinking in on himself and willing his bones to warm. Dad had dropped them off in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere two days ago and the snow hadn’t let up since.

“Come back to the fire,” said Sam, arranging dusty wool blankets into a cocoon on the floor.

Dean grinned. “You wanna snuggle with me, Sammy?”

“Asshole,” huffed Sam, trying to hide the pink blush warming his cheeks. If Dean only knew that cuddling up together, sharing body heat and skin caresses, had dominated Sam’s dreams for the past two nights, he may have been less forthright in his kidding around.

Then again, Dean loved to push his little brother’s buttons, even if Sam’s buttons had been slowly transforming from boyish annoyance to teenaged tension in the past few months. Leaving fourteen year olds alone with beautiful things for too long is dangerous. They start getting antsy.

Sam knew all about ants and itches he dared not scratch.

“You done with this?” Dean had taken a detour out to the kitchen and grabbed the pot of leftover baked beans from the stove-top.

“I already ate.”

It wasn't a complete lie. He’d had a couple of spoonfuls, but food was scarce and it was habit to save the lion’s share for Dean. Sam secretly relished hunger pangs anyway; they distracted him from other, more ravenous, urges.

As Sam looked towards the kitchen, he couldn't help but smile. Truth be told, there wasn’t much he loved more than watching his big brother eat. And it always flummoxed him how much Dean, no matter the activity, so closely resembled the shirtless male models Sam liked to gaze at in clothing catalogues. He watched as his brother, oblivious to his own allure, leaned casually against the counter, pot of beans in one hand and wooden spoon in the other.

“What’s so funny?” said Dean, noticing his brother’s grin.

“Nothing,” said Sam, joining him in the kitchen. He peeked inside the pot. “Is there enough?”

“I'm more than satisfied,” said Dean with a lopsided grin. He rubbed his hand on his bare abdomen, which protruded ever so slightly on account of a full belly. “Thanks for cooking, wifey.”

Sam’s face flushed. He mumbled, “Not your wife, Dean,” while doing his best to ignore the ache between his legs at the praise. He leaned against the counter next to his brother, relishing the closeness, the warmth.

“Here,” said Dean, scraping the bottom of the pot with the spoon and lifting it to Sam’s mouth. “I know when you’re bullshitting me, Sammy. _Eat_.”

Sam threw him a look, but opened his mouth all the same, allowing Dean to slide the spoon between his lips until he got a good mouthful. He let Dean feed him in silence like he’d been doing since Sam’s infancy, until the last remnants of supper were gone.

“Good boy,” said Dean, gently clutching Sam’s chin between his fingers and giving him a little squeeze.

The rough, blistered skin on Dean’s hands didn’t go unnoticed. Sam grabbed Dean’s hand in two of his own, inspecting it for redness and dry patches.

“I told you not to stack wood without gloves,” he said, thumbing around the painful cuts in his skin, testing for numbness. “You have exposure. Maybe even some frostbite.”

“You worry too much,” said Dean, pulling his hand away.

Sam rolled his eyes. “And you’re stubborn enough for the two of us.” He left Dean to scrape the gooey bottom of the pot while he retreated into the bedroom. Twenty seconds of digging in his duffle bag produced what he was looking for: a small bottle of Jergen’s hand lotion. He returned to the kitchen.

Dean froze, mid-scrape, and chortled at the sight. “What now? We gonna jerk each other off?”

Sam blushed. “It’s for your hands, dillweed.”

“You want me to use your dick lotion on my hands? Sam, you kinky motherfucker…”

"Are you done?” Sam sighed. A cheeky grin broke out across Dean’s stupid face, which nearly killed Sam with the beauty of it. He squeezed a dollop of lotion onto his own palms and rubbed them together, spreading the thick lotion all over. “Give me your hand.”

Dean raised his eyebrow, but gave in to Sam’s request nonetheless. He had a long history of giving in to Sam. He extended his left hand.

Sam took it in his own and rubbed the thick lotion into every inch, every crevice of skin, smoothing down the blisters and red patches.

Dean stifled a moan as Sam worked, rubbing the tender muscles in small circles, working out all the kinks and knots that hours of stacking wood and a lifetime of fighting demons had manifested.

“Is this why girls get manicures?” said Dean, mesmerized by the way Sam’s small fingers worked around his knuckles. “Because I could get used to this.”

Sam let go of Dean’s hand and took up the bottle again, dolloping another load onto his palm before taking the other hand in his own. “You deserve something nice,” he said, softly, forgetting himself for a moment. “For always taking care of me.”

Dean hummed in response as Sam worked at the tension in his other hand. He closed his eyes and let his head laze backwards. “It’s nothing, Sammy. Nothin’ at all.”

There was a patch of skin between Dean’s right thumb and index finger that had been particularly rubbed raw from chopping wood, over and over. With a dull axe too. Sam wrapped his hand around Dean’s thumb, milking it tenderly, rubbing the salve in.

Dean moaned — _moaned_ — as Sam slid his slippery fist up and down, coaxing at it even after the lotion had sunk in. “Jesus, Sammy.”

Sam’s ears burned red at the tips, watching Dean melt under his touch. And Sam’s own teenaged brain was spinning, heady and out of control, as the rhythmic motion conjured up unbidden images of his big brother coming even _more_ undone. Images and sounds and smells that spilled over the edge of Sam’s mind with every hum that fell from Dean's lips.

“Do you like it?” Sam whispered, transfixed at the way his brother’s bare chest rose and fell, the long cords of his neck flexing.

“Yeah,” hushed Dean, keeping his eyes shut, very pointedly _not_ looking as Sam massaged and rubbed and milked his skin pretty.

A moment later, Dean’s hips shifted against the kitchen counter and Sam’s breath hitched when he saw the outline of Dean’s cock bulging in his jeans.

It wasn’t as if Sam had never seen his brother hard before — morning wood was a mysterious mistress — but never this close. Never with Sam _touching_ him like this. Sam slowed his strokes, transfixed at the way Dean looked like he might bust through the fabric of his well-worn jeans.

Sam licked his lips. If he just — if he just maybe, reached down… he could _touch it_ , feel how hard Dean was for him. It was a sickening urge that made Sam’s own dick ache and his belly swirl with indignity. But it wasn't meant to be. Not tonight.

For, abruptly, two rough hands grabbed at Sam's shoulders, shoving him away. He stumbled and caught his footing, blinking dazedly at Dean, the way he was fumbling at his jeans, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the sinful swelling.

There was a long moment of silence before Dean summoned up the courage to look straight at his little brother, a strange mix of fear and guilt in his eyes. “Oh God, Sammy, I’m sorry,” he fumbled, his cheeks turning a deep scarlet. “I — I guess the smell of Jergen’s is enough to make me, um, _you know_.”

Sam’s mouth fell open once or twice, searching for the right words. The problem was, he wasn’t entirely sure which words he wanted to string together — the ones that might undo what just happened, or the ones that might spur it on.

Dean’s gaze dropped to his feet. “Wasn’t there, um, a dog that did that? You know, rang a bell when he wanted treats or something?”

“Pavlov’s dog,” stammered Sam.

“Right, exactly,” said Dean, forcing a mirthless laugh. “Prolly something like that going on, you know?” He scratched at the back of his head. “Anyway, I’m not sure what just — I mean, I don’t —”

“Dean, it’s _okay_ ,” interrupted Sam, taking a step forward and planting himself directly in front of his brother, like he was daring himself to say all the messed up things he’d been dreaming about lately. “Really, it’s okay.”

Dean, the flush of his cheeks bringing out his freckles, must have seen something in Sam's eyes that reassured him that he wasn’t going to freak out or run away to an orphanage or report him to the police for weirdness, because his eyes suddenly went soft and he pulled Sam into a tight hug, cradling his head against his bare chest and petting his hair. He squeezed him tight and then _tighter_ , as though Sam might slip through the cracks in his fingers if he relented.

“Sam, I wouldn’t —“ he said with a strained rasp, full of remorse. “I would never hurt you like that. Okay?”

Sam buried himself against Dean and breathed into him, half of him wishing to reassure him with pretty _I know, I know_ s and the other half longing to turn his eager mouth upward and beg: _please, hurt me just a little_.

With each passing day, every hour and every minute, it would pull at Sam like the loose threads on a sweater — one tug and he’d unravel forever.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this deleted scene, you might like the fic it was deleted from: [howls in my bones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664347).
> 
> find more of my wolfy tales on [tumblr](http://weefaol.tumblr.com/). <3


End file.
